


Plain Sight

by guineasaurusrex



Category: South Park
Genre: Craig's Gang, Fake Breakup, M/M, Secret Relationship, Time Skips, aged up characters in later chapters, fake hating, like edgy bad boy craig, playing with fandom tropes, rowelie is the new creek i guess, who doesn't actually do anything edgy or bad at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineasaurusrex/pseuds/guineasaurusrex
Summary: No matter how many times Craig tried to turn the problem over in his head, he kept coming back to the same answer. “Maybe we should break up.”It was a testament to how well they’d come to know each other in the last six months that Tweek’s immediate response was to groan into the couch cushions. “That’s your solution to everything.”-----Sometimes the best thing you can do for your relationship is convince everyone else that it doesn't exist.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 39
Kudos: 91





	1. Fourth Grade: No Dramatics

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. Something I've seen a lot of in this fandom is: "Tweek and Craig 'fake date' for a ridiculous number of years, complications ensue."
> 
> While that's not really my thing, it did make me want to try what's essentially the reverse: "Tweek and Craig convince everyone they _aren't_ dating for a ridiculous number of years, complications ensue."
> 
> This is very dumb and basically just an excuse to mess around with fandom tropes.

“I can’t believe you bought LEGOs as anniversary present.”

“Tweek _likes_ LEGOs.” Craig stopped trying to cram the LEGO Moon Base box into the corner of his closet long enough to shoot a glare at his sister from over his shoulder. Tricia and Laura were both lingering in the doorway in near-identical positions, their arms crossed in a united front of judgment.

Laura shook her head and breathed out a sigh. “He definitely gets his sense of romance from his father.”

“Dad buys you generic chick gifts like flowers,” Craig countered. Laura seemed like she was going to object but then her mouth twisted into the kind of frown that suggested Craig’s point had landed. His dad might end up in trouble with her later on, but if it got everyone off of _his_ back for a few minutes, that was a sacrifice Craig was more than willing to make.

Besides, she had it all wrong. The LEGO Moon Base represented his and Tweek’s interests combined into a project they could work on together—it was the absolute _height_ of romance. Craig was sure Tweek would get it, even if no one else did.

It hadn’t exactly been a cheap gift, either. Craig had saved up nearly every bit of his allowance for weeks in order to afford it. After skimping on Tweek’s last birthday, though, he’d been determined to get something impressive to commemorate a full six months of dating.

Craig went back to rearranging his closet space as the Tucker women began to wander off, apparently having decided he was a lost cause.

“Just wait until they get married,” Tricia said, her voice carrying from a few feet down the hall. “Craig will probably propose with Hot Wheels.”

“Hot Wheels are better than any stupid ring!” Craig yelled back. At least Hot Wheels were _useful._

He scowled and tried to shake off his irritation but something about the comment had gotten under his skin—even more than Tricia usually did. People were _always_ butting into his love life and after half a year of it, Craig was getting sick of the attention. He couldn’t even be excited about a normal milestone like their upcoming anniversary without someone bringing _marriage_ into the equation, as if he and Tweek were going to walk down the aisle together before they even reached middle school. All the ogling hadn’t been so bad when the town had been handing out cash in exchange, but the money had started drying up around the three-month mark, taking most of Craig’s patience with it. These days Craig often felt like a video game character, his HP taking a hit every time someone had something stupid to say about his relationship.

Craig covered the LEGO box with an old jacket just in case Tweek visited before the week was over. (Tweek was never prepared for sleepovers—either forgetting his sleeping bag or showing up once, inexplicably, with only a single sock—so it wasn’t unusual for him to end up digging through Craig’s stuff.) Satisfied his present was well hidden, Craig pulled the closet door shut and headed downstairs.

He found his dad seated at the table in the corner of the living room, the contents of one of those woodworking projects he was so obsessed with lately spilled out in front of him. If Craig slighting his gift-giving abilities hadn’t put Laura on the warpath, that mess sure would. “Wow, you’re seriously making another one of those things?”

Thomas glanced up from his pile. “You might not appreciate art right now, son, but someday when you and Tweek have kids of your own—”

“Dad!” Craig recoiled. _Baby talk_ was even more disgusting than _wedding talk_ , and that was saying something. “What the hell?”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. The grandkids are gonna need something you can pass down to them—”

“I’m leaving now!” Craig bolted for the front door, slamming it behind him for good measure. God, what was wrong with people today?

Any hope that the outside world would be less annoying was dashed when the mailman paused in sorting through his stack of letters to wave at Craig enthusiastically. To the best of Craig’s knowledge the guy had only been on the route for a couple of weeks, but he smiled at Craig like they were dear old friends. “Good morning, Craig! Where’s your better half?”

“Stripe’s upstairs.”

The mailman tossed his head back and laughed, even as Craig continued to stare at him humorlessly. “Be sure to tell Tweek I said hello!”

“Who says I’m going to see Tweek?” Craig asked, but the man had already turned to leave, heading down the sidewalk and whistling merrily to himself. “I could just be checking the mail!”

He _wasn’t_ , but still. He and Tweek weren’t one of those creepy couples who stayed attached at the hip, and Craig hated it when people acted like it was strange for them to spend any time apart. They both had plenty of other friends, thank you very much. Craig had half a mind to go and see one of _them_ instead out of spite, but he dismissed the idea quickly. He wasn’t going to be a shitty boyfriend to Tweek just because someone else had pissed him off.

Beyond that, it would be nice to get together and complain. Tweek was the only other person who could possibly understand how overbearing the people in their town could be, and with their anniversary fast-approaching, Craig didn’t doubt that Tweek was being driven just as crazy as he was. Technically they weren’t supposed to meet up until Tweek got off work, but Craig was confident he could convince the Tweaks to let him go early. Being able to get each other out of things they didn’t want to do was the one perk of their relationship that had yet to fade, and they both frequently pressed it to its full advantage.

Cutting through the park was the fastest way to get to Tweek Bros., and in Craig’s first real stroke of luck, he found the area to be fairly empty. The time wasn’t quite noon yet, so most kids were probably still sleeping in and making the most of a lazy Saturday. The few who were out on the playground seemed pretty young—kindergarteners, probably—with their bored-looking parents loitering on the benches. Craig’s bad mood must have been evident, though, since a couple of the kids looked up from where they were playing in the sandbox to watch him walk by.

“Aw, Craig looks sad,” one of them said. Well, _probably_ said. The garbled way little kids talked made the particulars of their speech hard to parse.

He was about to ask why some pigtailed brat missing half of her teeth knew his name, much less cared about how he was feeling, when the boy beside her made it worse by saying, “I bet you’ll see Tweek again soon, Craig!”

Craig jerked to a stop, staring at the kid in bewilderment. He was almost used to random adults being weirdly invested in his relationship, but now they were getting their children involved too? If their moms hadn’t been watching, he’d have been tempted to stomp on their stupid sandcastles just to teach them a lesson about minding their own goddamn business. As it was, he settled for flipping them off (and their mothers too, a moment later), and took solace in the fact that he’d almost reached his destination.

Craig crossed the final street and pulled the door to Tweek Bros. open with more force than necessary, the bell above him jangling violently with the motion.

“Craig!” For some reason Tweek was out on the floor wiping down a table, but he stopped to smile at Craig in that way that made him feel kind of breathless as soon as their eyes met. For a moment Craig forgot how mad he’d been just seconds before, HP restored.

Then a sudden bright flash and accompanying shutter sound startled him out of his reverie, like someone had their camera-phone turned to the most obnoxious settings possible.

Craig wasn’t surprised to see Richard Tweak taking photos from behind the counter. Next to him, Mrs. Tweak clasped her hands over her chest and practically swooned. “Look everyone, Craig’s here.”

It wasn’t the first—or even fifth—time that Tweek’s parents had acted like he was some sort of celebrity, but familiarity didn’t make the experience any less bizarre or uncomfortable. Predictably, the shop’s occupants paused in what they were doing to turn their heads Craig’s way. Really, if they were spending their weekend at Tweek Bros. then they probably _didn’t_ have anything better to do with their time than stare at Craig all day.

Except it wasn’t just Craig they were focused on. He followed the way their eyes swept from him to the wall and groaned to himself once he saw the shop’s newest addition. There, taking up the entire area where the bulletin board used to be, was an oversized painting of him and Tweek embracing. On one hand, he supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t one of the creepier pieces. Even though the two of them were depicted as looking closer to twenty-somethings than ten-year-olds, they were at least fully dressed and had their arms wrapped around one another in a way that seemed consensual rather than predatory. On the other… that was pretty much where the positives ended. Aside from successful approximations of their usual outfits, the painting didn’t have much resemblance to the real thing. Not-Tweek’s hair was long and shiny enough to rival a women’s shampoo commercial, and Not-Craig had the broad shoulders and improbably athletic build of a man who all but lived at the gym.

“ _That’s_ Craig?” whispered someone behind him, their unmasked disappointment making Craig want to sink into the floor.

Maybe early on it had been kind of flattering to have people drawing him as some kind of future sex god (“Yeah, that looks about right,” he’d said once, prompting Tweek to make fun of him for _hours_ ), but lately being compared to someone else’s idealized version of himself had him feeling more confused. Artwork-Craig never had crooked teeth or legs that were getting awkwardly longer by the day or a scar on his left arm from the sledding accident he and Clyde had gotten into when they were six. The eyes that stared back at him were a dazzling blue instead of Craig’s actual plain brown and he had the strangest urge to punch that perfect smile right off of his not-self’s face. It was way too irrational to ever admit out loud, but the thought of having this image he’d never measure up to hanging over where his boyfriend worked every day made Craig’s insides twist with insecurity.

“I’m still waiting on my latte,” a woman called over the commotion. She was seated in a booth near Tweek and from her entitled tone of voice to the pinched expression on her face, everything about her screamed ‘problem customer’. The collection of half-empty plates and cups accumulating on her table suggested she’d probably been making trouble for hours. What kind of person couldn’t get off their ass to get their own damn coffee, anyway? The counter was only a few feet away, and Tweek Bros. was a far cry from a full-service restaurant.

Craig watched as Tweek scrambled to grab the waiting drink so the lady wouldn’t have to suffer the horrific inconvenience of leaving her chair. Then she scoffed like Tweek had failed even that simple task and fixed him with a glare. “Are you seriously not going to bring me any napkins?”

“Sorry!” Tweek said, snatching a few from the closest dispenser and offering them to her.

The woman rolled her eyes. “Ones you _haven’t_ put your grubby little hands all over.”

Craig could see Tweek grinding his teeth together, his eyes twitching in that angry way that said someone was about to push their luck with him one step too far. Craig felt torn, as he usually did, between the desire to see Tweek commit a murder and just wanting to get out of there. In the end he decided to go with practicality; dating a hardened criminal would be awesome for bragging rights, but the day-to-day of having a boyfriend stuck in jail would probably get boring fast.

“Do you really have time for that, Tweek?” Craig projected his voice loudly enough to be heard across the café. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon.”

“Leave?” Richard shot Tweek a disapproving look. “You didn’t say anything about having plans with Craig today.”

“I didn’t?” Tweek wrung his hands, feigning nervous confusion. “Oh God, I must have forgot to mention it!”

“You really should have told us earlier, Tweek. We’ve been so busy already.” Mrs. Tweak frowned, stepping away from the counter to take over Tweek’s napkin mission before they had a one-woman riot on their hands. “Are you boys sure your date can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Craig surveyed the room. Other than Coffee Shop Karen, there were maybe four other customers milling around the shop. He supposed that counted as about as busy as it was going to get on a Saturday morning in South Park.

“I _guess_ we could try to reschedule.” Tweek shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just—well. This is the last weekend before our anniversary, so Craig and I have been planning this for a while.”

“Aww,” said an old man, and Craig pretended to cough to smother his laugh. Their actual plans consisted of a soft _maybe_ on meeting up with the guys to play football in Token’s massive backyard until one of them inevitably broke something expensive, but that wasn’t something the Tweaks needed to know. Craig left the puppy-eye routine to Tweek—he’d never had any talent for it himself—and merely nodded along like a dutiful boyfriend.

Predictably, it didn’t take long for Richard to relent. “Well…It _is_ important to understand the value of honoring your commitments. Since we’re past the morning rush, I suppose it’s all right for you to leave this time.” He turned his gaze to Craig, smiling in that way where it was impossible to tell whether or not he was joking. “After all, I’d hate for this to be the reason Craig finally gets sick of you.”

Before Craig could try and process whatever the hell _that_ comment actually meant, Tweek had all but ripped off his apron and tossed it behind the counter. He wasted no time in grabbing Craig’s hand and leading both of them out the door.

As they made their way down the sidewalk Craig stayed quiet at first, waiting for Tweek’s frustrated noises to taper off before he spoke. “Since when are you a waiter?”

The Tweaks generally kept Tweek either working in the back or out running errands. Craig figured it was less about ethics and more about the fear that a ten-year-old with shaky hands couldn’t be trusted to bus tables. Well, that and the fact that while Tweek’s family might have been on board with child labor, they were smart enough to know that the rest of the town wouldn’t necessarily agree.

“It was the stupid painting! That lady saw it and asked my dad to have me come out and help her personally. And you know what the worst part is?”

Getting a word in while Tweek was ranting was near-impossible, but Craig tilted his head to show he was listening.

“She didn’t even tip!”

“Wow,” Craig commiserated. “What an asshole.”

Their conversation was interrupted by another couple walking towards them, their eyes lighting up like they’d just spotted a cute puppy. Craig and Tweek knew exactly what _that_ meant.

“Look, honey,” said the man, “isn’t that—”

Without a word, the boys abruptly cut into an alley and took the back route all the way to Tweek’s place. They might have had to dodge some piles of trash and a few sleeping homeless people along the way, but at least it spared them from anymore gawkers.

Tweek’s house was blissfully empty when they arrived, but not even that could provide them with peace for long. Craig was barely through the door when his phone buzzed with an Instagram notification revealing the Tweaks had already posted the photos they’d taken in the shop. _6 Days Until Their 6 Month Anniversary!!!!_ , the caption read, followed by a long list of drink specials to commemorate the occasion. Craig fought the instinct to throw his phone across the room and sank down into the recliner with a sigh. “Dude, I think your parents are actually getting worse.”

“ _My_ parents?” Tweek scoffed as he sat down on the couch across from Craig. “They bought that painting in the shop from your dad!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_. And it isn’t even just that. Do you know what old Mrs. Wallace from the bank said when she saw me the other day?” Craig had a guess, but Tweek didn’t wait for his response. “She called me your little boytoy!”

“Heh.” Craig couldn’t stop himself from smirking, prompting Tweek to lob a throw pillow at his head.

“Your mom is the one who taught her that, Craig!”

“It’s not like _I_ told her to,” Craig grumbled, but he wasn’t really arguing. As much as he resented how often the art made him look like some sort of sleazy pervert, that had nothing on the weird-ass ideas people had about Tweek. Most days Craig wasn’t sure which one of them had it worse, but he knew it couldn’t be good for either of their long-term development.

“They’re gonna be like this all _week_.” Tweek flopped face-down on the couch. “And the customers are just as bad. I wish there was some way we could make everyone just forget about our anniversary.”

Craig hated hearing Tweek sound so absolutely miserable—especially about something that should have made him happy. The excitement Craig had once felt about getting to celebrate together seemed like a distant memory; now, the thought of the end of the week just filled him with dread. And what sucked most of all was that they couldn’t do a single thing about it.

…Or could they? However accidentally, Tweek’s dad had given him an idea. No matter how many times Craig tried to turn the problem over in his head, he kept coming back to the same answer. “Maybe we should break up.”

It was a testament to how well they’d come to know each other in the last six months that Tweek’s immediate response was to groan into the couch cushions. “That’s your solution to everything.”

Craig thought about the LEGO Moon Base hidden in his closet and the carefully crafted _I really like you and I’m glad we’re dating_ speech he’d been rehearsing in his head all week. At the rate things were going, all of that would be worthless. Even Craig’s most heartfelt words were laughably insignificant compared to half of the town planning their wedding.

“I’m serious, Tweek.” Craig sat up, his voice brimming with determination. The more he said aloud, the more he began to think this crazy plan might actually work. “If we can get people to think we aren’t together anymore then they won’t have any reason to bother us.”

Tweek rolled over just enough to look at Craig, half his face streaked with red from being pressed down. “Last time that just made everything worse.”

“Only because you were so melodramatic about it,” Craig said, earning himself a sharp glare.

“I was dramatic because you said to make it believable!”

“Okay, okay.” Craig held up a placating hand. “The point is that now we know better. We wouldn’t have to make a big production out of it.”

“We’d have to lie to our parents!” Tweek grabbed the pillow he hadn’t thrown at Craig, holding it in a death grip. “Do you have any idea how much pressure that is?”

Craig turned his phone so that Tweek could see Bebe’s reply to Richard’s post. “More pressure than being asked what kind of engagement rings best match my eyes?”

Tweek made a noise that was somewhere between a shriek and a groan and Craig thought it did a pretty good job of accurately summing up the situation. He _did_ end up throwing his phone that time, but with just enough force to send it skittering harmlessly across the coffee table. His parents would never buy him a new one if he willingly broke something so expensive.

“Besides,” Craig said, “we wouldn’t have to lie to them for long. We just need to make everyone calm down long enough for us to have our anniversary in peace. Then we can tell them we got back together. Maybe they’ll be so happy they'll even start giving us money again.”

Tweek’s face scrunched up in consideration and Craig could practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the difficulty of pulling off the lie versus the stress of an entire week of having the whole town nosing into their business.

“I’m not saying I’m agreeing to this,” Tweek said finally. “But how would we do it?”

* * *

The moment of truth came, as Craig had expected, practically as soon as he sat down at the dinner table.

“Where’s Tweek?” Laura asked. “I thought he was coming over after work.”

Craig prodded at his mashed potatoes with his fork and took a deep breath. Okay, he decided. Time to rip off the band-aid. “We broke up.”

Around him, he heard the sound of silverware clattering against plates and the distinct plop of Tricia’s phone slipping from her hands to land on her meatloaf. “How’d you fuck things up _this_ time?”

Laura was more sympathetic. “What happened, sweetie? You seemed so excited about seeing him this morning.”

Craig shrugged. “We just don’t like each other that way. It was time to stop pretending.”

Thomas swallowed nervously. “Does that mean… Uh, are you still—”

“I’m still _gay_ , Dad.” Craig had to cut that line of thinking off quick. The last thing he needed was to lie himself all the way back into the closet.

“Of course you are,” Thomas said quickly. “I just meant… Well…” He looked to his wife for a lifeline and upon finding none, he cleared his throat and rushed to continue. “How are you feeling, son?”

“Relieved,” he answered honestly. Craig only had to pull off this confession once, and maintaining the story would be easier than establishing it.

As the family watched him cautiously, Craig went back to focusing on his dinner. Eating would keep him occupied and minimize the risk of tripping himself up by saying too much. As long as Craig stayed quiet, he couldn’t lose. If anything in his behavior seemed off then his parents would simply attribute it to him playing tough to hide his broken heart.

Laura shoved another slice of meatloaf on his plate as soon as he finished the first, patting him on the arm as she reached over. It wasn’t as good as being handed hundred-dollar bills, of course, but it was definitely a step up from prying questions.

* * *

The issue of how to divide their friends was one thing Craig and Tweek had neglected to talk about. Jimmy, Token, and Clyde—in that specific order—were the most tolerable kids at school, so it was only natural that he and Tweek both gravitated towards them. That had been true for years before they started dating, but now Craig wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know how friendship custody worked in a real breakup, much less a fake one. Tweek was currently slumming it up by hanging out with Stan’s group, but Craig knew that sooner or later he’d have to take his turn doing the same.

For now he was spending his Monday afternoon recess the way he usually did, perched on “his” bar of the jungle gym like a king overlooking his court. Clyde was climbing to his right while Token and Jimmy stood nearby gossiping about something that had happened during music class. So far none of them had noticed anything amiss between him and Tweek, and the buildup was starting to make Craig feel a little anxious. Tweek was supposed to be slowly spreading the news of their split, and Craig hoped it hadn’t been a mistake to trust he wouldn’t embellish the story in a way they couldn’t walk back.

What he didn’t predict was Eric Cartman suddenly showing up in front of him, eyes shining with tears and panting like he’d ran the whole way over. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

“Tell you what isn’t true?”

Cartman was bent practically in half, still struggling to catch his breath. “You and Tweek! Tell me you didn’t really break up!”

“Oh,” Craig replied, curling his hand into a fist in annoyance. Cartman was ruining his whole ‘no dramatics’ plan already. “Yeah, we did.”

Cartman staggered back like he’d been shot, but it was the gasps of his friends that Craig was concerned with.

“But you’re both gay!” Cartman yelled.

“There’s like, millions of gay people in the world. I can’t possibly date all of them.”

“You’re both gay and you go to the same school!” Cartman held up one finger after another, like he was counting off indisputable facts.

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude. Me and Tweek just aren’t right for each other.”

Cartman sputtered and looked to the others for backup, but they appeared even more confused than he did.

“This isn’t over, Craig! You hear me?” Cartman pointed a finger at Craig’s face and swore with all the outraged passion of an old west outlaw challenging him to a duel. “This isn’t over! I’m not letting you give up on love!”

Then he turned and ran, seeming so upset Craig wondered if he was actually going to go hide behind the building and cry. God, that would be _awesome_.

“Dude,” Token said. “ _What the fuck_.”

Craig shrugged. “Cartman’s always kind of like that.”

“Not him!” Clyde hopped off of the jungle gym, plopping down in the snow in front of Craig.

“Yeah, Craig,” added Jimmy. “You weren’t gonna tell us you and Tweek broke up?”

Craig waved them off. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” Token repeated, his eyes narrowing in that I’m-entirely-too-smart-for-my-own-good way. “The last time I talked to you, you were crazy about him.”

“That was a long time ago. I’ve done a lot of growing up since then.”

“Dude, we’ve only been gone for the weekend.” Clyde stared back at Craig dubiously. “What could have changed that fast?”

“We just don’t like each other.”

“Why?” Clyde pressed.

“Huh?”

“What _specifically_ don’t you like about him?” Token asked.

Shit, Craig hadn’t actually thought about that. Why did people normally break up?

“He’s ugly?” Craig tried. Yeah, that one sounded like a winner. “And really dumb.”

Token kept his eyes on Craig as he began to pace back and forth, a trick he’d probably picked up from his lawyer father. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve insulted him all day.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Face it, Craig,” Jimmy said. “You’re kind of a p-p-petty-ass bitch when you break up with someone.”

“That’s not true.” Craig crossed his arms. “Name one time I’ve been petty.”

“Like, chronologically or in order of how big of an asshole you were?” Clyde asked.

“Kindergarten,” Token said, apparently making the decision for him. “Remember when you went with Jenny Simons? After you guys broke up, you did that whole Show and Tell presentation about how her dog was more fun to hang out with than she was.”

“Jenny Simons’ dog _is_ more fun to hang out with than she is,” Craig said. Just because it was petty didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Clyde gestured at Craig like he’d just proved his point. “Dude, you guys were only together for two days.”

Jimmy nodded. “And you dated Tweek for m-months. It’s hard to believe you made it all the way to recess without completely t-t-trashing him.”

Craig slid off the jungle gym and took a few steps away from the others, trying to hide the sour expression on his face. The truth was that _yeah_ , Craig did usually complain a lot after a breakup. Even with Tweek, he’d done it enough to establish a pattern. From the time when they’d fought for days over which superhero team to be on to the time they’d broken up for a solid hour and a half because Tweek had called Craig’s favorite racing game boring, Craig had ranted to their friends nonstop. He couldn’t do the same now, though, not if he wanted people to believe they were really over. Being angry at Tweek meant being hung up on him, and Craig needed everyone to understand that this time things were different.

“Look, guys.” Craig’s eyes scanned the playground for Tweek, eventually spotting him engaged in a game of kickball. “Tweek thrives on attention, so I’m not going to give it to him. It’s as simple as that.”

The others didn’t look convinced, but that was okay. This wasn’t a battle that could be won with normal means. For once, the key to victory was a complete lack of engagement.

And no one did nothing like Craig Tucker.

* * *

By the time their anniversary officially rolled around on Friday, Craig thought things were going about as well as could be expected. Tweek had bribed Bebe to post the girls’ list of _Top 10 Boy/Boy Pairs Who’d Make a Better Couple than Craig and Tweek_ on the cafeteria door, and the subsequent controversy had done wonders to take some of the heat off their split. The reactions of the adults in town were more mixed, but Craig didn’t have much sympathy for them. Case in point: the theater worker who sighed mournfully when Craig passed en route to see Tweek. _Tough luck, asshole,_ Craig thought to himself. Having a gay couple to gawk at was a privilege and not a right, and if no one was going to properly compensate him, then Craig considered it a privilege the town of South Park had collectively lost.

He knocked on the door to the Tweak residence, the LEGO Moon Base half-sticking out of his backpack since the box was too big to properly fit inside. Catching Tweek alone would have been ideal, but he knew from their texts that Mrs. Tweak was at home and leaving her husband to handle the shop's closing hours on his own.

“Craig!” Mrs. Tweak’s face lit up the moment she opened the door, and Craig knew he had to stop any notions of them getting back together in their tracks. “Are you here to see Tweek?”

“We were assigned to work on a science project together.” It wasn’t a good lie, but it didn’t need to be. Tweek’s parents were a weird mix of over-involved in their child’s life and yet still detached enough from reality to easily believe that an ex-boyfriend showing up with an expensive toy was a school-sanctioned activity.

As expected, Mrs. Tweak bought the explanation right away and stepped aside to allow Craig in, her expression deflating. “I see. Tweek’s upstairs.”

That bit of awkwardness aside, Craig thought the evening went pretty great. He didn’t get more than a couple sentences into his speech before Tweek cut him off with a hug that made him think his bones were going to break—but like, in a _good_ way. Tweek also liked the gift every bit as much as Craig had hoped, and working on it together was the most fun they’d had in weeks.

The lack of interruptions might have honestly been the best part. It was incredible to hang out without one of their parents nagging them about keeping the door open or sneaking around the corner with a camera to nab supposedly candid shots. Craig was so caught up in having a good time, in fact, that he almost missed the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. When anyone was watching they were supposed to be making a show of not getting along, so he scrambled for something to be pretend-angry about.

“Jesus, Tweek.” Craig lifted the instruction pamphlet. “You’re doing it all wrong. These things come with directions for a reason!”

“You’re always like this!” Tweek caught on right away, and yanked the paper from Craig’s hand with a ferocity that almost made Craig think he was serious. “Not everything has to be about following the rules, Craig!”

“It’s not going to work right if you—"

Craig’s mouth snapped shut abruptly as Mrs. Tweak stepped into the doorway, holding a plate of fresh cookies in her hands and watching the two of them with worried eyes. “Is everything okay, boys?”

“We’re fine, Mom,” Tweek said, but he’d started the sentence with one of those growling noises he tended to make when stressed. He got to his feet to take the cookies from his mom, kicking over some of Craig’s meticulously ordered LEGO pieces in the process.

“Thanks for cooking, Mrs. Tweak.” Craig didn’t need to fake the awkwardness in his voice, or the instinct to turn his head away in shame. It wasn’t something that _should_ have bothered him. Logically, Craig had known their breakup was going to upset people—hell, he’d often considered it a bonus. Despite all that, something about the way Mrs. Tweak’s face wrinkled in concern made his stomach stir with guilt.

Craig watched her retreat, feeling unsure about this plan for the first time since they’d started it. The Tweaks were pretty strange and all, but they were also one of the only families in town who hadn’t written Craig off as a bad influence. Since he had a vested interest in dating their son, he definitely wanted to keep it that way. He was about to suggest they drop the whole thing a few days early, but when Tweek whirled around he was practically beaming.

“You were right, Craig!” Tweek said, settling back in his spot on the floor and placing the plate of cookies between them.

“I was?”

“Yeah!” Tweek grabbed a cookie and bit into it aggressively. “It’s been really easy to fool them. When they ask too many questions I just say I don’t wanna talk about it and that works every time.”

Oh. Craig reached for a cookie and tried to muster some of that same enthusiasm. If Tweek was happy then Craig had no reason to care either, right? He knew Tweek’s situation was a lot different from his own. Craig had only been the focus of unwanted attention for a few months, but Tweek had had his weirdo parents breathing down his neck for as long as he’d been alive. It probably felt good to finally have a secret from them, even if it was just a temporary one.

They got back to work on their LEGO Moon Base, Craig not complaining as Tweek disregarded the instructions to rely purely on trial and error and Tweek not saying a word as Craig carefully sorted the LEGO pieces out into piles based on size and color. In the end what they came up with didn’t even come close to resembling the box art, but that was okay. In fact, maybe it was even better—they’d created something special, something that was uniquely _theirs_ in a way no one else could touch. Whatever came next, Craig didn’t think that was such a selfish thing to want.


	2. Fifth Grade: The Compliment Rule

When Token had volunteered to walk him home to discuss their upcoming water park trip, Craig really hadn’t expected a lecture.

“The thing is, my mom got those tickets months ago.” Token glanced at Craig like he was making sure he was still listening, so Craig gave a perfunctory nod. “I asked both of you to come way before you guys broke up.”

“So you’re saying it’d be a dick move to uninvite Tweek now.” Craig made a show of kicking some pebbles down the sidewalk, acting the part of the grumpy ex. He didn’t actually _want_ Tweek to miss out, but taking the news too well would be suspicious.

“It’d be a dick move to uninvite _either_ of you,” Token corrected, always trying to play the middle. Craig wanted to be annoyed with him for it, but secretly, he sympathized. Token had a harder time navigating the post-breakup landscape than Jimmy, who’d always floated effortlessly between groups, or Clyde, master of feigning obliviousness.

Not that any of this was easy for Craig, either. He and Tweek had never meant to drag the deception out this long, but their fake breakup had come so late in the spring that it had naturally carried on through the end of the school year. Getting back together over the summer had been out of the question; summers in South Park were notoriously boring and they would have become the talk of the town for sure. Now, with fifth grade due to start in two weeks, it made the most sense to save the news of their reunion until then. Being back in school meant there would be countless scandals competing for everyone’s attention, so any gossip about Craig and Tweek would get swept up with the rest of it. Lying to Token made Craig feel like the world’s shittiest friend in moments like these, but there was too much on the line to risk telling even one person before they were ready.

“Santa Fe is practically a five-hour drive from here,” Token said for what had to have been the fourth time. The water park opening up there was brand new, and the Blacks had been among the first offered passes. (That rich people always got so much free stuff seemed kind of backwards to Craig, but since Token was the generous sort, it usually worked out.) “So I need to know you guys can be cool with each other.”

“It’ll be fine, Token. Tweek and I really haven’t been fighting as much lately.” That was technically true, if only because Craig had screwed up their last fake fight so royally it had almost morphed into the real thing. It was everyone else’s fault that they had to go to such lengths, anyway. Staging arguments had never been part of Craig’s plan, but he and Tweek couldn’t be at the same place at the same time without someone scheming to get them back together. To deflect, they’d had to dial up the drama.

The worst incident had been back in July, when they’d both been invited to Meagan Ridley’s eleventh birthday party. Craig barely remembered what started it—maybe some half-serious dare for them to kiss—but they’d ended up fake-screaming at each other loudly enough for the whole community center to hear. Or at least, _Craig_ had thought it was fake. He’d called Tweek a spaz without realizing he’d actually pissed him off until later that night when Craig’s calls and texts had been met with nothing but radio silence. Apologizing to your boyfriend when you couldn’t just drop by his house absolutely sucked, and made it a nightmare to get over what should have been a minor issue. It wasn’t something Craig ever wanted to do again. Tweek, however, was the one who’d devised a solution.

 _“If we have to fight in front of people, then let’s only bring up things we like about each other_ ,” Tweek had said. “ _That way no one’s feelings get hurt_.” He’d been adamant enough that Craig had agreed, even if the whole concept made zero sense to him. How was accusing Tweek of cuteness in the first degree or whatever going to convince everyone they were mortal enemies? With the Santa Fe trip forcing them to spend an entire day in one another’s company, Craig supposed he’d find out soon enough. He could only hope Tweek’s idea worked better in practice than it sounded in theory.

“What’s that?” Token nudged Craig with his elbow, startling him from his thoughts and pointing towards the Tucker house. A cluster of red and pink balloons floated in the air, tethered to the doorstep by some sort of package.

Craig kneeled down to inspect it as they approached, finding a large box of chocolate turtles (expensive _and_ his favorite) with a note attached. Unfolding the note, he discovered it was type-written, as if to hide the author’s identity. Taken at face value—and ignoring the numerous bizarre spelling and grammar errors—it appeared to be a heartfelt letter from Tweek begging for another chance. Craig sighed.

“Hang on,” he said to Token. “I have to take care of this.”

Then he grabbed a rock and chucked it into the bushes with all his might.

“ _Son of a bitch!”_ cried Cartman, clutching his head as he popped free from his hideout.

Craig stared at him levelly. “Dude, get the fuck out of my yard.”

Cartman acted like he hadn’t heard him and ambled closer, nonchalantly picking off the leaves that had gotten stuck to his jacket. “Oh, hey Craig. What’s that you have there?” Cartman slid between Craig and Token, nosing at the letter like he didn’t know exactly what it was. “A letter from Tweek? Wow, he must really want you back.”

Craig let Cartman take the paper from him without a fight. It was one less thing he’d have to throw away. “I’m pretty sure Tweek knows how to spell ‘eternity’.”

Token glanced down at the note and then back to Cartman, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “And you do realize you’re literally the only person on the planet who says ‘I’m seriously’, right?”

“Token, come on. Don’t stand in the way of love just because _you_ already found the perfect girlfriend. Not everyone has it so easy. You should be happy for Craig.”

Craig usually tried to handle Cartman situations with more finesse, but since he was still busy dealing with Token, he wasn’t in the mood to be patient.

“Get it through your head: Tweek and I are never getting back together.” Craig shoved the balloons at Cartman with one hand and pulled the chocolate back towards himself with the other. He was annoyed, sure, but he wasn’t the kind of chump who’d turn down free candy. “Tweek’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met. I can’t even stand being in the same room as him.”

“Craig,” Cartman protested. “You know you don’t really mean that.”

But Craig was done here. He turned on his heels and ushered Token into the house, slamming the door shut behind them. The muffled sounds of argument continued from outside, but Craig paid them no mind and moved on to examining the candy. The box looked like all the seals were still intact, so he figured it was safe enough to eat. Craig tore the wrapping off and placed the opened chocolates on the coffee table. When he looked back up, he found Token watching him with a stern expression.

“What?” Craig asked.

Token crossed his arms. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“That’s not fair,” Craig said. “You can’t hold something I told Cartman against me.”

“You literally just said you couldn’t stand being in the same room as Tweek.”

Craig bit into a candy before he said something he’d regret and pushed the box towards Token like a peace offering. “Did you give _Tweek_ this talk?”

Token plucked one of the chocolates from the box and leaned against the arm of Craig’s couch. “I didn’t have to. As soon as I brought it up, he promised he’d try his best to get along with you.”

“Fine.” Craig made it sound like he was making some grand concession, the same way he did when his mom asked him to take out the trash or help his sister with her homework. “Then I promise I’ll do my best to put up with Tweek too. Are you happy now?”

“You remember the part about it being a five-hour trip, right?”

“ _Token_.”

The staring contest that ensued only lasted about thirty seconds, but to Craig it felt like hours before Token relented, some of the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “All right, dude. If you really promise me you’ll try, then I’m gonna trust you.”

* * *

Token clearly did not trust him.

In fact, seated all the way in the back of Mrs. Black’s minivan, Craig had the distinct feeling he was being punished. Jimmy was riding shotgun, with Token and Tweek sitting in the middle where they each had access to the built-in touchscreens. Craig, meanwhile, was stuck next to Clyde, who’d spent the whole trip eating sour gummy worms and chugging from an oversized cup of gas station Mountain Dew despite his long history of getting carsick. Craig had tried putting some space between them, but he’d ended up all but pressed against the door without anywhere else to go.

“Hey, Craig.” Clyde ignored Craig’s discomfort to scoot closer, balancing his snacks on his lap as he held his phone up between them. “Which philosopher, born in the 16th century, is known as the father of empiricism?”

“I don’t know,” Craig said through gritted teeth, the same answer he’d had for all thirty-six questions that had come before. Clyde had run out of videos to show him about an hour into the drive, so now he was trying to pass the time with some trivia app he’d downloaded. The difficulty must have been set to high school level or something, though, since they’d only managed to score an astounding two points so far.

“Come on,” Clyde urged. “At least try.”

Craig pressed a random response just to shut him up, completely unsurprised when yet another red X of failure flashed in their faces. Clyde, somehow shocked by this totally expected turn of events, deflated with the disappointment of someone who’d just watched the Broncos lose in the playoffs.

“You know, fellas, that reminds me of a funny s-s-story,” Jimmy said, making Craig realize he might have to murder more than one of his friends before this was over. He usually had a pretty high tolerance for Jimmy’s comedy (that bordered on fondness on a good day), but that didn’t mean Craig was willing to be a captive audience as Jimmy workshopped his seasonally-themed material. The problem was made worse by the fact that Jimmy was sitting only inches away from Token’s mom, prompting him to keep the routine as G-rated as possible.

Really, the fact that no one could let more than two minutes pass in silence confirmed what Craig had suspected all along: his friends were conspiring against him. They must have had a meeting to brainstorm ways to keep him and Tweek occupied and away from each other, and this car ride from Hell was the result.

“Hey!” Token called brightly, cutting Jimmy off and possibly saving his life. “How about we turn on some music?”

Craig could have complained about Token taking this long to come up with the most obvious solution, but instead he thanked whatever deity might be listening that he wouldn’t have to sit through another minute of back-to-school humor. If Craig had to hear one more joke that ended in a variation of “ _Eraser? I hardly knew her!”_ he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

Mrs. Black reached for the stereo and it immediately became clear that with a middle-aged person picking the songs, the music wasn’t going to be much of an improvement over the chatter. Even in a vehicle as incredibly expensive as this one, the rear speakers thumped a little too loudly to be comfortable, filling Craig’s ears with the ancient caterwauling of some long-lost civilization. Craig must have made the mistake of wincing at the wrong moment—right around when Axl Rose started wailing about people needing time on their own—because Clyde’s eyes went wide with panic. Frantically, Clyde unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled into the gap between seats to hover in Token’s personal space, his soda sloshing dangerously in its cup.

“Dude,” Clyde hissed in what was probably supposed to be a whisper. “Tell your mom Tweek and Craig don’t wanna hear depressing breakup songs.”

Tweek groaned. “We’re both sitting _right here_.”

“Where we can here every word you say,” Craig added.

“ _Clyde_ ,” Mrs. Black warned, and that single word was all it took to make Clyde murmur an apology and slink back to his seat. Once he was secure, Mrs. Black obliged him by skipping to the next song. The second the words _Achy Breaky Heart_ appeared on the display, she hit skip again. Then again. Then once more. Then a fifth time until she was mashing the button repeatedly. Titles flashed across the screen, from _Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough_ to _Can’t Let Go_ to _I’d Die Without You_ , like even Spotify was trying to get in on making the atmosphere as awkward as possible. Eventually Mrs. Black gave up, letting the lonely sounds of Boyz II Men’s _End of the Road_ blast through the minivan. Not making any sort of eye contact with Tweek had been tough enough already, but it was worse now that everyone seemed to be waiting for them to shoot pining looks at each other. From the corner of his vision Craig could see Tweek twitching from the effort to keep facing straight forward. If Craig had gone through a real breakup, he probably would have been tempted to throw himself out the window.

“Thanks, Clyde.” Craig crossed his arms and leaned back, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “This is so much better.”

“Sorry.” Clyde winced, then perked up again like he’d thought of something clever. “Hey, do you think the reason old people are always unhappy is because their music is so depressing?”

“Ignore Clyde,” Token said. “But come on, Mom. The rest of us don’t wanna listen to your Oldies playlist the whole way there.”

“Oldies?” Mrs. Black laughed, waving a hand towards where the song information was displayed on the car stereo. “Token, these are the top songs of 1992.”

The boys exchanged uncomfortable glances, but only Jimmy was brave enough to speak up. “1992 was almost thirty years ago, Mrs. Black.”

Craig watched alarm bloom across her face in the rear-view mirror, the slow-dawning horror of a woman unexpectedly confronted with her own mortality.

It was, sadly, the highlight of the entire road trip.

* * *

Fortunately, the water park itself proved to be worth the hassle of getting there. The attractions weren’t all that different from any of the places near Denver, but there was a novelty to being somewhere for opening season that made the park feel special. Just as Craig had predicted, the game plan the others had come up with for dealing with him and Tweek was even more obvious now that they were putting it into action. At least one person managed to be between them in line at all times, to the point that Jimmy had almost made some poor girl cry by refusing to be her partner on one of the two-person inner tube slides.

Craig pulled the blue _Santa Fe Splashdown_ cap down over his head, admiring his reflection in the glass walls outside the gift shop. His parents weren’t going to be happy he’d spent almost all of the money they’d given him on a silly novelty item he wouldn’t wear for more than a week, but it was a hat that would say _I went somewhere new and you didn’t_ to all the kids at school. That alone made it priceless.

After hours of water slides the boys had decided to take a break and walk through the rows of vendors that passed as a food court, so Craig’s only concern was making sure he still had enough cash left to buy something to eat. He was counting out his change as he approached the shaved iced stand when two quarters tumbled from his fingers, rolling right past his feet to slip through the narrow gap between the wooden planks.

“Goddamnit,” Craig said. Why did these places always have to be set up like boardwalks, anyway?

“Here.” Tweek swooped in without hesitation, replacing Craig’s coins with some of his own.

Craig reached out to put a hand on his shoulder—an automatic reaction to having his boyfriend in his personal space—but paused mid-motion as he remembered their friends were watching. “Thanks, ba— _buddy_.” Craig gave Tweek a fatherly pat on the back, causing Tweek’s eyebrows to shoot up like he thought Craig had lost his mind. A fair reaction, honestly.

The dining area overlooked the main park and was made up of circular tables that were shaded by large umbrellas. Craig was the last to make it through the line, and in what was probably a well-meaning gesture, the others had already nabbed the seats on either side of Tweek by the time he caught up with them. The attempt at separation backfired, though, since sitting directly across from Tweek was now Craig’s only option. Not that he was going to complain. Being around Tweek all day without ever getting to talk to or look at him had been a weird experience.

While the rest of the group had only bought shaved ice or slushies to cool down with, Clyde had also ordered some ridiculously overloaded nachos. Craig helped himself to one as soon as he sat down.

“Hey,” Clyde whined. “Those cost twelve dollars.”

“Then buying them was a dumb idea.”

“For once, Craig’s got a point.” Token reached for a nacho himself, with Jimmy following suit seconds after.

Clyde was so busy pouting at Craig that he missed his opportunity to act on the continued snack theft and could only watch in dismay. “Really, guys? I guess Tweek is the only one of you I can trust.”

Craig scoffed. “Tweek chased you around the wave pool with sunscreen for like, twenty minutes when we first got here.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t _steal_ from me.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t listen to me, man!” Tweek seemed to take the turn in conversation as an invite to launch into another rant. “The sun doesn’t fuck around!”

“Seriously, Tweek,” Craig mumbled around a mouthful of watermelon-flavored ice. “Just let it go.”

“We’re gonna have to let _Clyde_ go if he gets fucking _skin cancer_ —!”

Listening to Tweek go off on one of his tangents without reacting was damn near impossible, so Craig shoved another spoonful of ice in his mouth to mask his budding smile. The action wasn’t quite fast enough to escape notice from Jimmy, whose eyes shined with amusement as they flicked from Craig to Tweek.

“You know,” Jimmy said, “I’ve gotta h-hand it to you fellas. We’ve been here for hours and you’re still getting along.”

“You don’t have to get along _this_ well, though.” Clyde propped an elbow up on the table, using one of his nacho chips to stir the toppings together into an unappetizing mess. “I had twenty bucks on someone getting punched in the face before noon.”

Tweek looked affronted. “Wait. You guys actually bet on me and Craig ruining the trip?”

“Nah.” Token gestured towards himself with his spoon. “ _My_ money was on you two waiting until we got back out to the parking lot to kill each other.”

“And I thought the drive here would be a b-b-bloodbath,” Jimmy said.

“Wow.” Craig didn’t feel like he had the moral high ground often, so he basked in the opportunity to project an air of disappointment. “It’s nice to know you guys have so much faith in us.”

“Look on the bright side,” Token said. “No one’s winning the bet, but it’s great that we can all finally hang out again without it being weird. No offense, but you two were kinda driving us crazy for a while.”

Jimmy’s grin turned devious. “Unless all this time together is making you feel that old s-s-spark again.”

Tweek wrinkled up his face in disgust. “Are you kidding me? We’d be _miserable_ here if we were still dating. Craig wouldn’t be able to take five steps without trying to hold my hand.”

The group laughed and Craig stared down at his cup, trying not to let it show that the comment had stung. Tweek always said he liked it when Craig held his hand, so why would he tell everyone otherwise now—

 _Oh_ , right. The fighting-without-really-fighting thing. So _that’s_ how it was supposed to go. Craig knew he wouldn’t be as good at it as Tweek, but he swallowed down his nervousness and decided to play along. “Are you sure I could even _reach_ your hand anymore, Tweek? I don’t think you’ve grown an inch since third grade.”

Their friends laughed harder even as a blush started to spread across Tweek’s face, a sure indicator Craig was on the right track. He wasn’t _that_ much taller than Tweek, but the height he’d gained over the summer was one of Craig’s favorite things to tease about.

“I’m normal-sized, asshole!” Tweek jammed the spoon back into his shaved ice hard enough to send some of it spilling over the table. “You’re the one who’s some kind of—” Tweek gestured like he couldn’t find the right words, grunting with frustration—“fucking giant!”

“Guys…” Clyde stopped laughing, his eyes drifting back and forth from Craig and Tweek warily.

“Oh, please.” Craig sneered. “I bet you couldn’t even kiss me without getting on your tiptoes. Who’d want to date someone like that?”

Tweek went from looking mildly embarrassed to being full blown red all the way to the tips of his ears. For a second Craig was afraid he’d pushed their fake fighting too far to be believable, but then Token was shooting out of his chair to place a calming hand on Tweek’s arm. Likewise, Jimmy reached for his crutches and inched towards Craig. Only Clyde remained seated, pulling his nachos into his lap where they’d be safe from any potential crossfire.

Tweek snarled, standing up so forcefully the whole table shook with his movement. “You think anyone would want to kiss your stupid face to begin with?!”

“Like there’s anything cute about you?” Craig figured he’d might as well stand up too, ignoring the way the rational voice in the back of his mind screamed that it was wrong to worry his friends like this. The thrill of getting away with such blatant flirting easily won out against his better impulses. “Just looking at your dumb green eyes makes me want to puke.”

“At least I don’t spend an hour on my hair every day!”

“At least I’m not blond!”

“Craig,” Jimmy said gently. “That doesn’t even make sense. Lots of people have—"

“You know what?” Tweek threw his hands up like he thought Craig was a completely lost cause. “This is pointless to even talk about! How could you ever go out with someone when you spend all your time baby-talking to your _goddamn guinea pig_ —”

“—You do the same fucking thing!”

“Okay!” Token smacked a palm against the center of the table as he leaned over it, effectively blocking Craig and Tweek from each other. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Look, obviously having all of us together isn’t working. Let’s split up and meet by the exit when the park closes. All right?”

“Fine,” Tweek huffed and Craig nodded. It wasn’t an ideal way to spend the rest of the day, but after that performance he couldn’t say they hadn’t earned it. From behind Token’s back, Tweek caught Craig’s eyes and flashed a lightning fast smile. Craig looked away abruptly to resist his urge to do the same, hoping the move would be interpreted as another show of anger.

As the last person left at the table, Clyde looked lost on who to follow, like he was a child being asked to pick between his parents. Craig made the decision for him, turning to leave before anyone other than Jimmy could catch up. Even without looking, he could practically feel Jimmy’s eyes boring into his back as they walked.

“What?” Craig asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, come on. Don’t make that face at me.”

If anything, Jimmy’s frown seemed to deepen, and Craig couldn’t truly be sure whether or not he was doing it on purpose. “I’m just saying. Fighting with Tweek like that was kind of unnece- unnece- unnecessaa— pretty uncalled for.”

“I can’t help it if he pisses me off.”

Jimmy must have taken Craig’s words as a reasonable enough explanation, because he shook his head but didn’t push the matter further. “What do you say we get your mind off him and just focus on having fun?”

“That’s the first reasonable thing anyone’s said all day.”

 _This_ was why Craig liked Jimmy so much. He wouldn’t force him to talk or nag him about his feelings. They could skip to the front of the line on every attraction and Craig could keep pretending he hadn’t upset Token and wouldn’t have to be around when all the junk food Clyde had been gorging on finally caught up with him. A classic win/win scenario.

* * *

According to Token, it was the lazy river that had finally done Clyde in. There were conflicting reports on whether Token had spun Clyde’s inner tube around or if puking into the pool had been a purely natural reaction, but the end result was that he’d ended the day on a pretty rough note.

To top things off, they had definitive proof Clyde should have heeded Tweek’s warning about the sun. Clyde’s back and shoulders were such a painful-looking red that he’d yet to put his shirt back on and was instead sitting just outside the changing room, sniffling miserably as Mrs. Black fussed over him and tried—with marginal success—to rein in Jimmy and Token’s mocking. Craig couldn’t believe Tweek was missing his chance to say _I told you so._ It shouldn’t be taking him this long to get dressed and grab his stuff.

Deciding to check on him, Craig slipped away from the others and stepped back into the changing area. He found Tweek standing in front of the rental lockers, dressed in khaki shorts and an orange t-shirt, his hair drying in haphazard curls that were even more untamed than usual. Maybe it was because Tweek normally all but lived in button-ups, but Craig thought the look was nice on him. He might have told him so, but the compliment died on Craig’s tongue when he moved closer and saw the distressed look on his boyfriend’s face. Tweek was biting his bottom lip, brow furrowed as his thumbs furiously typed a message on his phone.

“Honey?” Craig dropped his voice low even though there was no one nearby to hear them. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my dad.” Tweek finished typing and shoved his phone into his pocket as if he were trying to get it out of sight before he had to see the reply. “He wanted to _remind me_ that this trip would be a perfect time to win you back.”

“Oh.” Craig genuinely didn’t know what to say, a common reaction to stories Tweek relayed about his parents.

“They’ve got a whole plan, Craig!” Tweek whirled around like he had too much energy to keep still, pacing a few feet away and eventually sinking down onto a bench. “ _Fall is the busiest time of year in the coffee business, son_ ,” Tweek said, his voice carrying the bitter edge of something he’d obviously heard many times before. “ _It’d really help us out if you boys could try to patch things up by then_!”

Carefully, Craig moved to sit down beside him. He put a hand on Tweek’s back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “You know, we don’t _have_ to tell everyone we’re back together as soon as school starts.”

“You hate lying about it.” Tweek turned his head to face Craig, running a hand through his messy hair. “And so do I! Jesus, it’s not like I’m _ashamed_ of dating you.”

“I know that,” Craig said. Back when they were openly together, Tweek had practically shouted from the rooftops that they were a couple. At the time Craig had honestly found it a little annoying, but now that the option was completely off the table, he couldn’t deny that part of him missed the attention. “I think keeping quiet is harder for you than it is for me.”

Dishonesty just wasn’t in Tweek’s nature. It wasn’t an issue of being untrustworthy—it was that Tweek wasn’t the sort of person who kept secrets for _himself_. Whether it was thieving gnomes or failed presidents or being certain the new lunch lady was a serial killer, Tweek never held back on sharing how he felt. It was kind of funny; Tweek often said he envied Craig’s confidence, but Craig thought the reverse was more accurate. After all, what was braver than showing that kind of fearless openness in the face of a world that didn’t take you seriously?

“It’s _always_ about money with them.” Tweek stared down at his hands, flexing them anxiously in his lap. “Even when I was really little.”

Craig wasn’t sure where this was going, but it felt important to listen, so he leaned in closer.

“In preschool, they had me convinced my shitty finger painting was going to put us out of business. It was the same thing when I first learned how to play the piano. My dad thought it would attract customers, even though the shop isn’t built for live music _at all._ All it did was piss people off. Everyone was so disappointed that I didn’t want to play for _months_ after that.”

Tweek exhaled a shaky breath and looked at Craig with eyes that begged him to understand. “I love my parents, Craig, and I get that helping them is my responsibility. I just… I want _one thing_ in my life to not be about the fucking coffee shop, you know?”

Craig _didn’t_ know, not really. His parents annoyed him sometimes, but it was always pretty normal stuff; his dad arguing with his coaches about not giving Craig good enough positions, his mom cheering too loudly at his games. It felt a little bit like pressure every now and then, but he couldn’t imagine what it would be like for them to put a price tag on his interests.

What he _did_ recognize was that Tweek was depending on him to have a logical response, so Craig reached for his boyfriend’s hand and gave it his best shot. “Listen. We pretended to break up to make everyone give us some privacy. If things are going to be just as bad as they were before, then it doesn’t make any sense for us to tell people the truth yet. We should give it a few more months.”

Tweek still looked unsure. “A few months is a long time. There’s no telling how long it will take them to really get over it.”

“I’m not in any hurry, Tweek.” Craig lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. The way he saw it, they had the rest of their lives to figure this stuff out. “And in the meantime, you were right about the fake fighting. We’re definitely better at that than we were at the real thing.”

“Christ, man, I’d fucking hope so.” Tweek snorted in amusement. “You wouldn’t use a real fight as an excuse to tell everyone how much you think about wanting me to kiss you.”

“That’s not what I said,” Craig tried to protest, but Tweek met his eyes with a knowing smirk and he had to relent. “Okay, that’s _kind of_ what I said.”

Tweek laughed then, open and genuine and in perfect contrast to how stressed he’d been moments before. It was a really great sound. Craig filed it away as something else to mention the next time they had a compliment war.

“Thanks, Craig,” Tweek said suddenly, leaning against him. Their heads bumped together, close enough that Craig could smell the chlorine still clinging to Tweek’s hair.

“Sure.” Tweek sounded grateful, but Craig knew he hadn’t actually done anything. Really, he was lucky that Tweek didn’t ask much of him. If Tweek had used that same soft and trusting voice to suggest they go rob a bank, Craig probably would have walked the two hundred and seventy-three miles back to Colorado to get his ski mask without complaint.

As nice as the moment was, they both understood it couldn’t last. If they lingered here much longer, their friends would definitely come looking for them. Tweek was the first to pull away and roll back to his feet.

“Come on,” he said, offering a hand to help pull Craig up. “We should go make sure Clyde’s still alive.”


	3. Sixth Grade: Clowns in a Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Quick reference](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fef60f3267c596ff3ebea51e5f1db4ce/4a59789648fb8a90-1d/s540x810/a7044236eaeadf4f2f1d95df96f81196d7324689.png) in case anyone is unfamiliar with the creepy stuff in Tweek's room.

The worst thing about this whole mess, Craig decided, was the fucking _clown_.

It was just his luck that the one day the Tweaks chose to act like a halfway normal family also happened to be a day when Craig was visiting. Some high school friend of Richard’s—along with the guy’s wife and their three loud, tiny children—were passing through town, prompting the once-in-a-lifetime occurrence of Tweek Bros. getting closed down a few hours early.

The Tweaks and their guests had descended on the house in such a sudden whirlwind that there’d been no chance for Craig to get away. The few times he’d needed to make a quick exit like this before he’d used the window, but with Richard and his friend setting up the grill in the backyard, that option had been ruled out almost immediately. As footsteps had approached Tweek’s room, Craig had borrowed a pop culture cliché and dived for the closet. Since Tweek’s mom didn’t stop at popping in to summon him downstairs, it turned out to have been a good choice. Every so often she would plow back into his room to show off some expensive thing Tweek owned, or, once the other lady had acted impressed by his model collection, to brag about his construction skills. It was pretty laughable to Craig. He’d never seen Tweek’s parents take non-monetary interest in his hobbies before (aside from getting him riled up about model glue causing brain damage), but the second someone else noticed she was bursting with motherly pride.

For the first half hour or so, Craig hadn’t really minded his predicament. Hiding from your significant other's parents was a typical teen movie trope, and living it out had made Craig feel like he was getting a headstart on becoming a rebellious badass—the kind of guy moms didn’t want their kids to date, but who was just too damn irresistible.

After about forty-five minutes in, however, reality hit him hard. His legs were cramped from being in such a small space, and Tweek’s complete lack of organization meant the closet resembled a war zone. LEGO bricks dug into his thighs, clothes smacked him in the face every time he turned his head, and the heating vent was close enough to leave Craig sweating and thirsty. Tweek, for his part, was running interference and trying to steer the crowd back into the hall every time they got too close. Sometimes he whispered frantic apologies to Craig from the other side of the door, but his mom always called him away before they could figure out any sort of real solution.

And then there was the clown.

Craig had only seen its silhouette before, some inflatable doll-thing that Tweek hadn’t had the heart to get rid of, tucked into the corner of his closet. The chaos on the floor—piles of laundry, old toys, and a surprising number of tiny pointed hats—meant that Craig had had no choice but to press his back right up against the damn thing, letting it loom over his shoulder. He tried to stretch his arms but ended up accidentally jostling the clown with his elbow, activating its motion sensitive voice box. Maybe once upon a time the laugh had been jolly, but now the years-old recording rumbled in his ear, deep and menacing. “ _Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Haaaa_ …”

Craig definitely didn’t flinch at the sound, and when he tried to scoot a few inches away, he told himself it was to make more room for his legs. He didn’t get far before his hand collided with something else on the floor, producing the distinctive _clink_ of metal against glass. Craig felt around and sure enough, there was what seemed to be a half-full bowl of cereal growing an impressive collection of mold across the top.

“Seriously, Tweek?” Craig whispered aloud to himself. “How are you worse than Clyde?”

Craig wished he at least had his phone to kill time with. It had been charging on the floor when Mrs. Tweak had come knocking, and in his mad dash to hide, there’d been no time for Craig to grab it. Later, through the thin slats in the door, he’d watched Tweek kick the phone under his bed to keep it out of sight. Craig flexed his fingers in its absence, longing for that comforting weight in his palm like a missing limb.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed in that stuffy, miserable position, but Craig felt like he’d aged a lifetime before he heard the rapid-fire sounds of someone running up the stairs. Seconds later, a winded and flushed looking Tweek yanked the closet door open so frantically he probably did permanent damage to the hinges.

“I’m so sorry!” Tweek’s words tumbled out in such a rush that Craig could barely keep up. “I really didn’t know they were coming and I couldn’t think of an excuse to make them leave but _then_ Dad wanted to show them something in the shop so they all went with him and I pretended to have a headache so I could come and get you but you have to hurry because they won’t be gone long, _and_ —!"

“Tweek.” Craig jerked a thumb towards the devil-clown behind him. “What the fuck is that?”

“A punching bag?” Tweek tilted his head like he didn’t understand the question. “One of my doctors told my parents that they’re good for kids with ADHD.”

“And _that’s_ the one they bought?” Almost immediately, Craig recognized the futility of his question. The Tweaks were the same people, after all, who’d responded to their son asking for a puppy by getting Tweek that bird that only spoke in serial killer phrases like, “ _You’ll never find the bodies_.” Creepiness was par for the course. “What am I saying, of course they did. But why do you still have it?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie, Craig? Throwing away something that fucked up is just asking to be cursed!”

Craig turned to look at the clown, now illuminated by the full light of the room. He took in the cold, dead eyes and that I-eat-children-for-breakfast grin and couldn’t deny that Tweek had a point. “Okay, Tweek, but the _cereal_ —”

Tweek threw up his hands and cut Craig off with an exasperated groan. “Are you gonna go while you can or just nag me all day?”

Craig narrowed his eyes in a way that said the conversation wasn’t over, but acquiesced enough to crawl free of his prison to gather his things. He crouched down, reaching his arm into the no man’s land that was the area beneath the bed, fishing out his phone along with a handful of Tweek’s perpetually missing socks. “Seriously, honey, we’ve gotta have a talk about your cleaning habits.”

“Shut up,” Tweek said without any heat. He moved in to kiss Craig on the cheek as he stood back up, the surefire trick to actually silencing him. “And get out of here before we get caught.”

“Okay, okay.” Craig pocketed his phone and slipped his backpack over his shoulders. Since Tweek was still close by, Craig grabbed him in one last hug for good measure.

Tweek squeezed back harder than usual, sounding dejected when he said, “I’m sorry today sucked so much.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Craig kissed him on the top of the head before he let go and made a move for the door. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Even after his insistence they needed to hurry, Tweek only reluctantly let Craig’s hand slip from his. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Night had fallen by the time Craig made it outside, a quick check of his phone revealing it was after 9 P.M. Great, he’d wasted his whole day. Any later and he would have been fielding worried phone calls from his parents.

Days like this made Craig wish that he and Tweek hadn’t burned through their more convenient excuses to see each other so quickly. Early on, they’d been able to arrange visits by pretending to be paired up on school projects. It had worked out great until they’d pushed their luck too far, using the line on Craig’s dad one time too many. Thomas had begun to think the school was discriminating against his son by repeatedly partnering him with his ex and had threatened to march down there to put a stop to it. Seeing his dad kick PC Principal’s ass would have been amazing, right up until his parents discovered one tiny detail: Craig and Tweek hadn’t actually had any classes together since their homeroom had been split back in fourth grade.

With that lie off the table, Craig and Tweek had been forced to get more creative, scheduling any trips to one another’s houses around the absence of their parents. Craig’s place was usually off limits; even on the rare occasions both of his parents worked the same shift, there was still Tricia to watch out for. The Tweak home was a little easier, if, as tonight had proved, unpredictable.

Honestly, all of this sneaking around stuff was starting to wear on Craig. He thought back to those teen dramas and how they always made secret relationships seem so glamourous and exciting. In real life, it was just exhausting. Then again, people in the movies usually snuck into their boyfriend’s bedroom for more scandalous reasons than getting help on their algebra homework.

Wait, his homework. Craig had left it laying on Tweek’s desk. Swearing to himself, he spun around and started trudging back in the direction of Tweek’s place. He shot Tweek a quick text telling him to bring the worksheet downstairs, but still hadn’t received a response even as he once again approached the house.

Craig figured it would be safest to go in through the back since there was no telling when the Tweaks would return. Swinging by the shop for five minutes only to immediately leave again was exactly the kind of nonsensical behavior he’d come to expect from them.

Craig walked through the backyard and tapped on the sliding glass door, shuffling his feet impatiently. It was starting to get cold out and he really just wanted to get his worksheet and head home while he still had time left to finish it. When another minute passed with still no reply from Tweek, Craig tried calling him. After a few rings he was redirected to voicemail and Craig ended the call with a frustrated growl. Did Tweek even have his phone with him? Maybe it had been misplaced in the chaos. Craig shivered as another gust of wind hit him and decided to just try the door on the off chance it was unlocked. He pushed with all his might, but of course it didn’t budge.

“Hey!” Craig jumped at the sudden voice, whirling around to find the old man who lived next door glaring at him from over the fence. “Aren’t you the Tucker boy?”

“No,” Craig said automatically. When in doubt, stick with what you know.

“Yes, you are!” The man’s glower intensified. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Craig’s mind raced for an innocent explanation for why he was trying to force his way into his ex-boyfriend’s house after dark on a school night, but unsurprisingly, came up with nothing. Without an answer that would exonerate him, his brain pivoted to the next best choice—making it look like he was there for mischief. Purely in fight or flight mode, Craig did what his instincts told him: he grabbed Tweek’s bike from where it was leaning against the house, shoved it into the mud, and ran for his life.

* * *

“And after you clean it, you’re gonna replace the chain.”

“What?” Tweek was regarding Craig with the kind of disapproving frown that would have done his mother proud, but Craig wasn’t going to let that—or the ridiculously early hour of the morning—be an excuse for getting talked into extra work without a fight. “Hang on, your bike chain was already a piece of shit. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Yeah,” Tweek said, clearly not caring if he sounded unreasonable. “But you owe me.”

“I’ll do it if you do my algebra homework.” Craig shoved the paper at him.

“My math grades are just as bad as yours!”

“Maybe, but you actually seem awake.” That gave Tweek a fighting chance at getting some of the answers correct, which was more than Craig could say for himself right now. Really, this whole idea had sounded so much better over the phone.

The previous night, Craig and Tweek had decided that it would be best for Craig to pick up his homework in person before school. The plan wasn’t as impossible as it sounded; every morning, the Tweaks left home at 5 A.M. sharp to prepare for the shop’s 6 A.M. opening. This gave Craig a brief window of opportunity to swing by undetected before school started. He’d intended to complete the worksheet himself—he needed the practice if he was going to make it through his exams—but when his alarm had blared into his ear at 4:30 and he’d reluctantly rolled away from the warm comfort of his bed, Craig had known that kind of coherency was a pipe dream. Since he’d dragged himself to Tweek’s, Craig hadn’t managed much more than collapsing on the couch and turning on the television in the hopes that the noise would stop him from dozing off again. Tweek, somehow, was as wired up as ever even though he couldn’t have possibly gotten much more sleep than Craig.

Debate raced in Tweek’s eyes for only seconds before he snatched the paper from Craig with an, “Ugh, fine!”

“Thanks, honey.” Groggy as he was, Craig managed a smirk at his boyfriend’s refusal to let him fail. Tweek met his gratitude with more half-hearted grumbling, digging a book out of his backpack to place in his lap as a makeshift desk.

Craig tried to focus on the television while Tweek worked, but that was easier said than done. A mind-numbing infomercial droned on before him, showcasing some fifty-dollar product that promised to help inept housewives crack eggs without destroying half the kitchen. A more awake Craig might have had a joke about how something like that could make Tweek’s cooking less of a disaster, but current-Craig couldn’t quite put those pieces together.

“You know,” Tweek said as his pencil flew across the page, “I can’t believe we never thought of doing this before. Mornings would be a great time for us to meet up.”

Craig blinked his bleary eyes at him, wondering if he was too tired to detect sarcasm. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Huh? No, seriously, Craig.” When Tweek lifted his head, his eyes were sincere. “Mom and Dad trade off their shifts during the day, but they _always_ go in together to open. If we wanted to, we could hang out like this every day.”

“You want to have 5 A.M. dates where we get together to watch infomercials,” Craig said, sinking back against the couch while staring forward like he was addressing some imaginary audience. “And somehow people still think _I’m_ the one who’s bad at romance.”

“Hey, the infomercials are all on you. I didn’t put those on.”

“I didn’t mean to either.” Craig waved a lazy hand at the Tweaks’ media center. “I don’t know how to work your dad’s new set-up.”

“It’s not new,” Tweek said. He sat Craig’s homework aside long enough to grab the remote and bring up Netflix, settling on a familiar comedy. “We’ve had this for months.”

Nothing about that statement was sad, but Craig felt the strangest pang in his heart anyway. Maybe it was the reminder of how long it had been since they’d been able to drop by each other’s houses freely. For the last couple of years when they’d wanted to watch something together, Craig and Tweek had usually locked themselves in Tweek’s room and huddled around his laptop just in case someone came home unexpectedly. Suddenly, Tweek’s pre-sunrise dates didn’t sound so bad after all.

Craig scooted closer to Tweek and wrapped his arms around his waist, prompting Tweek to tense up for the briefest of seconds. At age twelve, Tweek was starting to feel insecure about not outgrowing his baby fat, still round-faced and pudgy around the middle. Craig didn’t get what the big deal was; he would have traded places with Tweek in a heartbeat if it meant feeling less gangly. At least extra weight was useful for football.

More importantly, their height difference made Tweek the perfect size for Craig to lean on. Craig did just that, resting his head on top of Tweek’s and murmuring into his boyfriend’s hair. “I _guess_ I can start coming over in the mornings sometimes.”

Tweek just laughed, relaxing against him. “You’re so predictable.”

* * *

Craig was reasonably sure that reaching for caffeine as a crutch to get through rough mornings was exactly how people became addicted, but damned if he didn’t almost regret not taking Tweek up on one of his many offers of coffee. Getting up so early had thrown Craig off his rhythm all day at school, and when the lunch bell finally rang, part of him was tempted to find a quiet corner of the library to fall asleep in. He probably would have gone through with it, if not for the fact that he’d already made plans to meet up with Tweek. Having lunch together wasn’t something they could do often—his friends would notice if he bailed every day—so Craig was reluctant to skip out.

As Craig retrieved his lunchbox and headed for the gym, he took in some of the new artwork lining the halls. Since people had started moving on from their fixations with Craig and Tweek’s relationship, he had to admit the drawings had gotten a lot more interesting. Craig’s favorite piece was the one of PC Principal and Mr. Adler, dressed like anime schoolgirls and staring longingly into one another’s improbably-sized eyes. Best of all, it had a place of honor on the outside of PC Principal’s door, courtesy of Tweek ever-so-earnestly requesting that the principal put it there as a show of honoring his commitment to diversity.

Stan Marsh was standing in the hall ahead of him, so transfixed by one of the new illustrations that he didn’t seem to notice the lines of students passing him by. Craig stepped closer to see what had Stan so fascinated, and was only mildly annoyed to find it involved himself. The artwork in question used a comic book style composition, and though Craig couldn’t read the language the dialogue was written in, the layout communicated the story pretty plainly. In the first panels, he and Stan were squaring off with their respective pets like a couple of Chinpokomon trainers. From there, they got progressively more and more into each other’s faces until the story culminated in them making out.

It was gross that someone out there was imagining him with the likes of Stan, of course, but all those pictures of him and Tweek had helped Craig to build a tolerance for this bullshit that his other classmates were lacking. In contrast, Stan was so mesmerized that Craig wondered if something had permanently cracked in the guy’s brain. As someone who’d been in Stan’s shoes not all that long ago, Craig could have offered some helpful advice. Instead he said, “Stripe would kick Sparky’s ass.”

That shook Stan from his stupor. He looked at Craig like he wasn’t sure if he should be angry or confused. “Stripe’s a goddamn guinea pig.”

“Yep,” Craig agreed cheerfully, then left Stan to sort out his sexuality crisis on his own.

Craig passed a few of the vamp kids exiting the gym as he neared its doors, plastic cups of something red and frothy clutched in their hands. Tweek’s doing, no doubt. The unholy alliance he’d been negotiating must have paid off.

Once inside, Craig made his way to where Tweek was sitting on the floor near the back of the bleachers. ( _Under_ would have been more private, but Tweek refused, certain they’d be crushed to death in a freak accident.) “What’d you give them this time?”

“Red velvet hot chocolate,” Tweek said, holding up an empty thermos. “It you mix it thick enough, it looks way more like blood than that clamato crap they usually drink.”

“Good thinking, honey.” Craig joined his boyfriend on the floor, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the wall. He opened his lunchbox so that he and Tweek could mix and match their food as they pleased, but found he couldn’t muster up much of an appetite. Something about being off his feet reminded Craig of how drained he felt, and it was a fight just to keep his eyes open.

“Craig?” Tweek moved into view, looking worried. “Are you sure you don’t wanna just take a nap, man? You seem really out of it.”

“No way,” Craig said stubbornly. “We’re gonna have at least _one_ normal date this week.”

Tweek’s lips quirked at ‘normal’ but he didn’t argue that no definition of that word included bribing wannabe vampires for thirty minutes worth of time in a secluded corner of the gym.

“In that case, I brought something for you too.” Tweek’s backpack was just as hopelessly disorganized as his room, but after a little digging he produced a tupperware container of his mom’s salted caramel brownies.

“You stole stuff from the shop again?”

“It’s not _stealing_ when I _work_ there,” Tweek said, shoving the box into Craig’s hands. “The shop is mine too!”

Craig grinned at how pissy Tweek looked and helped himself to one of the brownies. “I don't mind if you wanna steal, babe. It's the only way I’ll get to eat your mom’s cooking since I’m banned from Tweek Bros.”

“You’re not... _banned,_ exactly.” Tweek’s voice wavered, unconvinced.

“I’m still blocked on Instagram.” Craig couldn’t be mad about it since he knew it was his own fault. The hate-flirting they’d begun mastering last year had been so much fun that it had followed them into their social media interactions. Usually it was pretty harmless stuff; replying to each other’s photos with nauseated emojis or comments that seemed insulting to the untrained eye. Craig had posted an impressive tirade about how unattractive Tweek looked in his new work apron—that conveniently managed to point out his best features—before realizing the picture was on the official Tweek Bros. page rather than his boyfriend’s personal account. By the time he’d scrambled to delete it, Tweek’s mom had already had him blocked.

“Mom wouldn’t have been so pissed if it wasn’t for me,” Tweek said. “I played the ‘broken heart’ card so many times she started to get really worried.”

“You had to come up with _something_ to get out of work.” A completely mutual breakup had been the original plan, but Craig wasn’t bothered by being labelled the bad guy if it meant they got to spend more time together. Without their relationship as a bargaining chip, there were few forces on earth that could convince Tweek’s parents to cut his shifts short.

“That reminds me! I need to show you the new artwork they put up this morning.”

“New artwork?” The Tweek x Craig piece had been removed just over a year ago, and this was the first Craig had heard of any replacement.

Tweek brought the coffee shop's Instagram page up on his phone, holding the screen up for Craig to see. There wasn’t a painting hanging in place of the bulletin board this time; instead, the Tweaks had opted to frame a life-size photo. The subject was Randy Marsh, wineglass in hand, sprawled out on a bearskin rug in that classic ‘lounging naked by the fireplace’ pose. A strategically draped Towelie was the only thing saving Craig from the horror of seeing Stan’s dad’s junk, and he was looking into the camera with the most seductive gaze a towel could manage. Which was to say, not very seductive at all.

Craig rubbed his own eyes and wondered, not for the first time today, if he was so exhausted that he’d started hallucinating. “Is making people throw up some new way of convincing them to buy coffee?”

“You got me, dude.” Tweek shrugged and tossed his phone aside with a recklessness that nearly made Craig wince. “But my dad says that everyone’s really into it!”

“Christ. People in this town are out of their fucking minds.”

“You don’t get it, Craig.” Tweek maneuvered until they were face-to-face, which resulted in him practically sitting on top of Craig’s legs. “If everyone’s obsessed with Stan’s dad, then maybe they won’t pay as much attention to _us_.”

“Oh.” As usual, it took Craig’s brain a few seconds to catch up with Tweek’s mouth. “ _Oooh._ You really think so?”

“Maybe!” Even when excited, Tweek never seemed entirely sure of himself. “No one’s asked me about getting back together with you for months, man. This might finally be our chance.”

“Except for the part where your mom hates me now.”

“Don’t worry about that. My parents can’t stay on the same topic long enough to even get through a five-minute conversation. They’re _terrible_ at holding grudges. They’ll forget about being mad at you in no time.”

Tweek’s optimism was so infectious that Craig allowed himself to consider the possibility too. It _would_ be nice to just act like normal boyfriends again—eating lunch with their friends, going to the movies without having to enter ten minutes apart, holding hands in public. All that mundane, blissfully boring stuff other kids took for granted. Craig smiled at the thought.

"We should give it a few more days just to be safe," Craig said. The reminder to be practical was directed at himself as much as it was at Tweek. "But there's no reason we can't start planning how we're going to tell everyone we're back together, right?"

* * *

It was that fragile thread of hope for the future that kept Craig going for the rest of the day, through social studies and football practice and Clyde’s general existence. As he lumbered towards his house like a zombie, all Craig could think about was how great it would be to take a nice, long shower and curl up in bed.

A familiar looking car in the driveway instantly stomped Craig’s dreams into dust. Apprehension crept up his spine as he entered the house, and he didn’t make it more than a few steps in before his worst fears were confirmed.

There, seated around the kitchen table with coffee mugs and serious adult expressions, were his parents and the Tweaks.

_Fuck._

This was the moment Craig had been dreading since this whole charade began. Were he and Tweek busted? Had that nosy neighbor noticed him again this morning after all? Had one of Tweek’s parents caught on to the way that he’d changed Craig’s name in his phone to Kyle Broflovski? There were so many possibilities, so many little ways they could have slipped up.

Before Craig could sneak upstairs, his mother spotted him. “Come sit down, Craig.” Her tone didn’t leave any room for argument.

Craig shuffled forward, his feet as heavy as if he were on his way to the gallows. He was no stranger to getting in trouble, but the fate that awaited him now was something else entirely. What kind of punishment did two solid years of lying to your family get you?

His entire body felt awkward as he climbed into a kitchen chair, all eyes in the room on him.

“Craig,” Laura began carefully. “Tweek’s parents are concerned that you might be bullying him.”

That was a condemnation, all right, but not the one Craig had been steeling himself for. His mouth dropped open, the excuses he’d been cobbling together evaporating into the air. “What—?”

“Mr. Salazar saw you in our yard last night.” Mrs. Tweak folded her hands together on the table and regarded Craig coldly. “He said he caught you trying to do something to Tweek’s bike.”

“Did you ask _Tweek_ about what happened?” Craig already knew the answer was no; Tweek would have never stood for his parents treating him like an invalid who couldn’t fight his own battles. “Because I already talked to him and he said it was fine.”

Mrs. Tweak’s nostrils flared. “Of course he’d say that! He’s probably terrified of you.”

Craig balked. “We _are_ talking about the same Tweek, right?”

“Craig,” Laura cautioned, prompting Craig to avert his gaze downwards. Getting testy with the Tweaks was only going to exacerbate things, but it was hard to help himself.

Thomas sighed. “I still think you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Craig and Tweek have been broken up for years. Whatever happened, I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

“We know they’ve been keeping in contact.” Unlike his worked-up wife, Richard Tweak was as docile as ever. Craig couldn’t decide if it made the situation more or less frustrating. “Before last night, we didn’t have any reason to think it went beyond cyberbullying.”

“Cyberbullying?!” Craig whipped his head up like he couldn’t believe his own ears.

“He says the most awful things to Tweek on Instagram.” Mrs. Tweak took another sip of her coffee. “And then there were the _texts_.”

It took Craig a few seconds to realize what she was talking about; his texts to Tweek weren’t that different from the ones he sent to his other friends, save for the occasional pet name or bit of sappiness. The only real exception had been last year, after the awful Santa Fe road trip had made them think it was hilarious to send each other links to breakup songs. With some accidental influence from Jimmy, that had morphed into texting each other pickup line style breakup jokes. ( _Baby, being with you was like Eric Cartman in gym class. Not working out._ ) Who in their right mind could look at that and take it seriously?

Mrs. Tweak, apparently. “He made fun of Tweek for months after breaking up with him,” she said. “Poor Tweek has been such a mess. He hardly wants to come in to work at all.”

Craig bit his tongue to keep from losing it. _Jesus fucking Christ, lady_ , he thought. _You can’t think of any_ other _reason your preteen son might not want to slave away in a coffee shop every day?_

“So the boys have fought sometimes,” Thomas said. “They’re _kids_. If we don’t let them figure this stuff out on their own, they never will.”

“And that’s all completely out of context.” Craig was grateful his dad was trying to defend him, even if he didn't know the whole story. “Did you read any of the messages he sent _me_?”

“I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated with Craig.” Richard addressed Thomas directly, going on as if Craig hadn’t spoken. “You have to admit, Thomas, he _does_ have a bit of a reputation for picking on other kids. There was that business with the Cotswolds boy a few years back.”

“ _I_ have a reputation? Tweek was right there with me holding him down!” Remembering something, Craig rose in his seat. “Hey, wait. Didn’t _you_ help tape his dad to a flagpole after a school dance?”

But Richard wasn’t listening. The conversation went on as if Craig didn’t exist, transgressions from his past being dredged up like he wasn’t there to hear them. This must have been how Tweek felt all the time, Craig realized. It was like being stuck in a void where you could scream at the top of your lungs without ever being acknowledged.

“We realize Tweek can be a… difficult child to get along with,” Richard continued. “Honestly, his mother and I hoped this whole thing with Craig would toughen him up a little.”

Mrs. Tweak nodded. “But now it’s gone too far. Property damage isn’t the kind of behavior we can just allow to continue.”

“Why?” Craig spat, no longer caring if he was making the problem worse. “Is it bad for business?”

Mrs. Tweak put her mug down with an irate thud. “You see, Laura? Your son isn’t even taking this seriously! He doesn’t care what he’s putting Tweek through at all!”

Laura’s grip on her coffee cup turned white-knuckled. Insulting Craig obviously had her pissed off enough, but taking shots at her parenting skills? That was going way too far. Craig could tell his dad wasn’t faring much better, splotches of angry red blooming across his pale skin and making him look like a volcano ready to erupt. This was bad. Craig and Tweek might have been evenly matched as far as fighting went, but if their parents got into it the Tweaks would get absolutely slaughtered.

“Well,” Laura said tightly. “We appreciate that you brought this to our attention. _We’ll_ be sure to have a talk with Craig later.” As in _without you._ She stood up to her full height, leaving no doubt the Tweaks were being asked to leave. “If you'll follow me, I’ll show you to the door.”

The Tweaks could be oblivious at times, but not even they could misinterpret a cue like that. With a few mumbled platitudes of thanks, the two of them moved to follow Laura out of the room.

“Craig.” Mrs. Tweak halted in the doorway, her hand lingering on the frame. She turned her head over her shoulder to look Craig right in the eye. “Stay away from my son.”

Craig’s throat went dry. He’d never known Mrs. Tweak was capable of that much contempt, much less expected to see it directed at him. The phrase _mama bear_ sprang to mind; in that moment, she’d looked ready to rip Craig limb from limb. Numbly, Craig watched her leave, _Stay away from my son_ echoing over and over again in his head.

_Fuck._

“Un-fucking-believable!” Laura stormed back into the room, gathering up the discarded coffee mugs and tossing them into the sink with such force it was a miracle they didn’t shatter. “Our kids have an argument and they want to act like Craig’s some kind of delinquent!”

“I’m not bullying Tweek,” Craig blurted. He wasn’t sure why he said it beyond some kneejerk need to defend himself. “That thing with his bike was a misunderstanding.”

“We believe you, son,” Thomas said, the easy, automatic trust making Craig’s stomach lurch worse than any display of anger could have. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want anything to do with that boy.”

Guilt rose in Craig’s throat like bile. “I—uh. I mean. Tweek’s okay sometimes.”

“We know Tweek’s not a bad kid.” Thomas watched Craig with a focus that made him squirm in his seat. It was that _I’m your father and you’d better listen because this is an important life lesson_ face. “But with parents like that there’s no way he’s gonna turn out right.”

Laura nodded. “Breaking up with him was the smartest thing you could have done. You should keep your distance from that whole screwed up family.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Craig had been bracing to get grounded for the rest of his life, but this was _so_ much worse than being in trouble himself. If it were just Craig his parents were mad at, they’d punish him and then get over it. This simmering resentment for the Tweaks, however, wasn’t going to be so easily fixed.

Unsure of what else to do, Craig decided he should warn Tweek before _his_ parents made it back home to deliver the same lecture. Craig fumbled for his phone and typed out a message:

_Babe_

_We’re fucked._


End file.
